


waterlogged

by Team_Free_Tardis_Deduction



Series: Civil War: What Is, What Was, What Could Have Been... [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), MCU, Marvel
Genre: AU, Angst, CACW, CACW spoilers, Captain America Civil War - Freeform, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Civil War, Drabble, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fanfic, Feels, Ficlet, Filler, Fix It Fic, Gay, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, One-Shot, Pain, Romance, Short, Spoilers, Suffering, The feels are real, canon AU, cap 3, gay ship, seriously how do i even deal?, temporary death cause no one ever dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6783106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Free_Tardis_Deduction/pseuds/Team_Free_Tardis_Deduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A filler, because we all wonder what happens when the cameras are off.</p><p>Steve and Bucky take a third plunge, this time together. This time it's Steve that drags Bucky to shore.<br/>This time they're almost not so lucky. ft. CPR, man tears and a HELLicopter</p>
            </blockquote>





	waterlogged

**Author's Note:**

> This is terrible. Way worse than I intended. I really wanted to do this ficlet, but it turned into trash.  
> I apologise.
> 
> PLEASE (I highly doubt you would, but) this is not an accurate portrayal of water safety procedures and first aid. Do not do as the dude did. Yeah? Yeah.  
> This is /fiction/

Steve almost didn't go through the door. Only really opened it out of precaution.  
_Just to make sure Bucky wasn't there._  
But he was, so Steve sprinted.

He wasn't really sure what he planned on doing once he reached the chopper, but it didn't matter. He was fuelled by adrenalin and desperation- there wasn't a thought process, just: _Please no, no, no, Bucky, NO_. He leapt, both hands up and waiting for the slap of metal on his palms, prepared to latch on and _not let go_. He swung for a moment, only about a metre above the ground, but a distance large enough for him to dangle helplessly from the bottom of the chopper. With a considerable degree of effort he swung himself, pulling the helicopter down with him until his feet brushed the concrete of the landing pad.

Steve'd done a lot of stupid, desperate things in his life- but this had to be the most stupid, desperate of them all. Clung onto the _flying_ helicopter like some kind of giant child whose favourite toy is being taken away, and then tried to _pull it back onto the landing pad_. His muscles burned, his body stretching itself to the limits. He was an epicentre of tension; he was caught in the middle of ' _an immoveable object meets an unstoppable force_ '; he was driven by sheer willpower.  
And somehow, by some miracle, that chopper came to him. And then it came on it's own accord. And then Steve had just enough sense to dive out of the way as the gigantic blades whizzed passed his head and imbedded themselves into the concrete of the landing pad, slicing through it like it was made of nothing but butter. Steve rolled forward, his heart pulsing in his throat, trying to stay alert and _alive_.

Everything was a blur for a few moments, his vision clouded by dust and shrapnel, pieces of loose chopper falling around him. He ducked just in time as the rear blade swung around, almost taking his head off. Then it all sort of stopped and Steve was left sprawled on the ground, heart hammering. Time sped back up and the fog in his brain seeped away.

 _Bucky_ , his mind screamed, and Steve pushed himself up. He ran blindly. One minute he was peering through the shattered remains of the helicopter window- the next, Bucky's metal hand was crushing his windpipe. Steve gasped and struggled to pull free from Bucky's grip, bracing his hands on the shell of the chopper and trying to push away.  
It wasn't working. The helicopter was slipping. Bucky was going to fall, Steve was going to fall...

* * *

 

Steve'd plummeted from great heights often enough to recognise the weightlessness of free fall. His stomach got left somewhere behind, along with all common sense and an angry mob of government officials.

They dropped like pebbles into the body of water below, though they made a considerably larger ripple.

Somewhere along the way, Bucky's grip on Steve's throat slackened and then fell away altogether. He let out a startled cry, like a frightened animal, and the thought that he'd heard that noise tear itself from Bucky's throat before, on a helicarrier all that time ago, hit Steve right before the water did.

It wasn't too cold- not icy or chilling- but cool enough to come as a shock as Steve sunk below the surface, weighted down by the impact, dragged by the helicopter debris. His lungs burned as he clawed to the surface. He was almost there...

 _Bucky_.  
Steve stopped, dove back into he murky abyss, hands clawing through the water in search of some part of Bucky to latch onto. His lungs burned like they did when he was a kid and his asthma played up, his muscles ached and he was chilled to the bone- if not from the water temperature, then fear. He couldn't find Bucky. Was he trapped? Another surge of panic.  
_Bucky. Buck_...   
Steve'd always been cool-headed in combat. He knew that panic lead to disaster, that one needed to remain calm and centred. But he couldn't find Bucky. He couldn't find Bucky like Bucky found him. He couldn't, he couldn't...

He couldn't let Bucky fall away again.

His hand found something. In his blindness he felt the warm of skin, the soggy softness of saturated fabric. Steve curled his hand around a wrist, and waved his other around until he smacked the back of his knuckles against the metallic plates of Bucky's other arm. The bubbles poured from the part in Steve's lips, a flurry of air rushing through the currents as he enveloped Bucky in his arms and kicked towards the surface, his head spinning and hands shaking.

They broke the surface in a desperate burst and Steve gulped in air, coughing and spluttering as his lungs adjusting to _not drowning_. Bucky's head lolled onto his shoulder, his body limp and pliant in Steve's arms. It was a relief, almost, until Steve realised he also wasn't breathing.

"Buck!" He shouted, dragging them to the shore as fast as he could. No one appeared to be around, not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. Just Bucky.

Bucky was far heavier out of the water. The drenched clothing, waterlogged boots and weighty metal arm on top of his natural body mass proved a challenge as Steve, weak and weary, dragged him onshore and tried to lay him as gently as possible on the muddy bank. Heart hammering in his throat, Steve dropped to his knees and placed his fingers beneath Bucky's nose, opened his mouth and hovered his hand a few centimetres over Buck's lips. 

He wasn't breathing. He really wasn't breathing.

"Oh, god no. No, Buck, you can't do this to me now." Steve sucked in a panicked breath, his hand scrambling to find Bucky's flesh wrist and feel for a pulse. There was none. "Oh, god. Oh, no. Oh please, please, _NO_!"

Steve tilted Bucky's head back, opening his mouth wider, trying to be as rational and collected as possible and failing epically. He closed one eye and peered down Bucky's throat, cautiously poked a finger inside his mouth and felt for blockages. Nothing. 

Steve felt his own throat closing, tears prickling his eyes. He felt so helpless and overwhelmed, his world was crashing down around him, melting away, trickling back into endless dark waters.

He took a deep breath and pressed the shaking heel of his palm to the centre of Bucky's chest, entwining his other fingers over the top, and began to compress. He sung under his breath, the little tune he'd been taught to keep the timing. He pressed so hard he knew he'd leave Bucky with bruises, maybe a broken rib or two. He wished it were himself. He could crack, he could shatter, but he couldn't let Bucky break, no matter how hard the world was trying to crush him to dust. 

Once he'd done around thirty compressions he stopped, sat back on his heels, and adjusted Bucky's head. There was an moment of hesitance, like a prick to Steve's subconscious, before he leant forward, Bucky's nose pinched daintily between his fingers, and sealed their mouths together. He exhaled, watching Bucky's chest rise a millimetre or two, and then again. He pulled away and re-strated the compressions. He puffed with effort, his head still spinning like a carousel on a loop. The world was dead to him, silent, narrowed down to just the two soldiers on the riverside.

Steve repeated his cycle once, twice, three times. He had stopped holding back by that point. He was sobbing, his chest heaving. Desperation was closing in on him, snuffing out all logic, all calm. He was frantically clawing at Bucky now, shaking him, begging him.

"Bucky, Buck," Steve sobbed. This wasn't fair. This wasn't _fair_. It couldn't be like this. It couldn't. "Please, please come back. Please don't go. I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_..." His head fell to Bucky's chest, his hands fisting the fabric at the shoulders. He let it go, he let go. He cried harder than he'd ever cried before.

Harder than when his ma died. Harder than when Bucky fell. Harder than he did the entirety of those first few weeks back once he was out of the ice. Harder than when he saw Peggy for the first time in 67 years, and she only saw another nameless face. Harder than when he unmasked that monster, and the monster was his pal, his buddy, _his Bucky_.

The only time he'd cried close to this hard was a few days ago, after Peggy's funeral. When he was alone and he could grieve freely. 

And even then. Even then...

Now he'd lost both of them. Peg and Buck- the two people he loved most in this world and the next. He couldn't hold Peggy's hand, he let Bucky go. 

Some hero.

"Do you remember," Steve whispered. He couldn't look at Bucky's face, so he stared blankly at the ground. "Our promise, Buck?" He felt numb. He felt dead. He kept wishing he was. He willed the world to take him, to let him follow Bucky like Bucky'd always followed him; into the jaws of death. 

Steve Rogers was no quitter, but if the universe decided to claim him now, he'd let it.

He was done.

"To the end of the line." Steve said, his voice cracking. "I know you remember. I know you do."

Bucky was impossibly still. It wasn't right. James Barnes was restless, James Barnes fidgeted. James Barnes was never, _ever_ still.

"I'm with you to the end of the line." Steve curled himself against Bucky's side, still clinging to him, head on his chest. They could come for him, he wouldn't run. But they were taking Bucky, too. They had to take Buck, too. 

"It's not the end of the line yet, pal." Steve sobbed. "We still have a few more stops to go, Buck. Don't you step off early. Don't you dare leave this train, again." 

He was angry now. He was furious. He shook Bucky's arm roughly. Bucky was limp like a ragdoll.

"Goddamit, Buck, you can't leave me again, you hear? You can't leave me a-again." He buried his face into the damp folds of Bucky's shirt, his shoulders shaking, heaving for breath. He was mourning Bucky now, mourning everything he'd lost. 70 years of regret. It was suffocating. "You c-can't leave me, Buck." Steve spoke quietly, his lips barely moving. " _I love you_." 

* * *

 

The only kiss Bucky ever remembered knowing was the kiss of death. But Steve's was the kiss of life. When he pressed his lips to Buck's, there was suddenly warmth where there'd only been ice. Bucky felt the numbness melt away, the darkness rolling back to reveal a world that was bright and clear. He felt serene pleasure for a bout three seconds before he tried to draw breath and felt his chest set on fire.

Steve's head shifted where it was cushioned on Bucky's chest, raising up and down, just barely, as his friend drew a breath. It didn't register at first. Steve blinked slowly, every movement delayed. Then Bucky cough and gasped and Steve shot up, jerking away as Bucky rolled and cough out all the water in his lungs, his hands clawing at the mud as he convulsed violently for a few moments. 

Then Bucky settled back, chest heaving, and peered up at Steve.

"Stevie?"

"You..." Steve was very, very still. "You..."

Bucky's head hurt. His chest hurt. His mind was foggy, his lungs were burning. He felt Steve's warmth beside him, a hand on his cheek. "You son of a bitch." Steve croaked, his voice scratchy like he'd been shouting. "You absolute dick. You idiot. You moron. You dumbass jerk. I thought... I thought you were dead."

Bucky's lips quirked up into a frail smile. "I thought you were smaller..."

His eyes slipped closed.

* * *

 

When Bucky awoke sometime later- his arm pinned to some sort of machine, the ghost of the fiery pain in his chest still lingering, now mere flickering embers- he had no recollection of the helicopter, or his escape from the compound. Or the feel of Steve's lips pressed to his.

He did recall, as if from a dream, however, warm breath on his face, and gentle words whispered to him, drawing him from a darkness so profound it could only be the shroud of death.  
Steve.  _I love you_.

"Buck? Do you remember me?"

Bucky blinked up at him. _I love you_.

"Your mom's name was Sarah." He said. _I know you_. "You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

 _I love you, too_.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to see me write something in particular for this series? Leave a comment! Or send me a message!  
> Tumblr: http://scribblesnsquiggles.tumblr.com  
> I'm always open to requests and recommendations.  
> ALSO  
> If you are wanting to collaborate- contact me. I'd love to work with you guys!  
> <3  
> Thanks for reading


End file.
